The music is blaring. My heart’s thumping along with the beat trying to hear the words. Definitely a pretense of Jewish music. I dance merrily trying — though not too hard — to remain in sync with the tempo. My smile is stretched wide. My carefully made-up eyes belie the stream of tears I’ve shed at my sister’s chuppah. The circle of dancers is completely diverse yet somehow whole. The tear-shaped rock inside my throat rises to the surface again threatening another breakdown. I choke. Just tears of happiness I think desperately willing my smile to stretch wider and wider never breaking. It’s my sister’s chasunah. The scene is one of joy but why does this joy feel so overwhelmingly sad?